


Cricket in Regent's Park

by Wetislandinthenorthatlantic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluffy, Mollcroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 20:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1361356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic/pseuds/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a lovely summer's day in London and Mycroft finds his goldfish in Regent's Park.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cricket in Regent's Park

**Author's Note:**

> This was the request: "Mycroft is obligated to go to Sherlock’s for some party & Mollly makes him feel welcome & comfortable & he decides he found his goldfish" The sun is shining here in London and my thoughts have turned to summer .... so I took the party outside. I hope you don't mind! 
> 
> I don't own any of the characters -- this work is purely for entertainment.

Mycroft gave an exasperated sigh. First Sherlock had texted with instructions to pick up various parcels from Abdul and bring them to Baker Street. Now a note on the door alerted Mycroft that Sherlock was in Regents Park and expected the items to be delivered there. Since when had he become his little brother’s courier Mycroft thought as he walked the short distance to Regents Park.

As Mycroft came round the hedge he saw them -- the whole entire lot of them. This was the last thing he needed. They seemed to be having some sort of party. Mycroft rolled his eyes. Now he knew what was in the bags.

“Yea! Foods here!” Sherlock bounded over to him to take the bags from Mycroft’s hands as the others gave a cheer. “Told you he would come! Even the British Government is allowed out when the sun is shining!”

Mycroft shot his brother a disdainful look as he surveyed the scene: Mrs. Hudson, Greg Lestrade, Greg’s wife Kathy (humm, between lovers and back to the marital bed? Mycroft wondered) John, Mary, Sherlock and Molly where all in attendance. There were blankets, a lawn chair, and various other things (cricket bat, books, magazines) that indicated this gathering was expected to go on all day. Mycroft shook his head. How dire.

“Sherlock it is obvious you have set up camp, with intention of being here for hours. Why the detour to Baker Street?” Mycroft asked frowning.

Sherlock was unpacking the food and looked at his brother questioningly, “If I would have said we were in the park would you have come at all?”

“No.” Mycroft replied with a deadpan look.

Sherlock gave a shrug and smiled.

“Staying for some Arabic food brother dear,” asked Sherlock sweetly.

“No,” Mycroft stared at Sherlock. “Someone has to keep an eye on things while everyone in the country is outside enjoying the sun.”

As Mycroft turned to leave he spotted a book sitting on one of the blankets. He frowned as he bent down to pick it up.

“Oh! Sorry. That’s’ mine.” Molly rushed up to him. She took the book out of his hand and brushed off the cover like she was embarrassed. Molly was nervously looking for her bag so she could put it in.

“I didn’t know it was out yet,” said Mycroft softly.

“Um. Sorry. You know this book?” Molly looked up at Mycroft with surprise.

“Yes. He is my favourite French author but I didn’t know it was out in paperback yet,” explained Mycroft.

Molly was now looking down at the book in her hands. “It is out. Well obviously it is. Sorry. I mean it is not out in paperback here. In France it is. But I guess you could get a book from France easy enough. My aunt has a bookshop in Paris so she sent it to me,” Molly looked sheepish. She had said too much. She always said too much.

“I didn’t know you spoke French,” there was a slight look of shock on Mycroft's face. He prided himself in knowing most things about Sherlock’s friends. He was not sure how this fact had slipped by him.

“Molly! Come get some food before we eat it all,” Sherlock called to her with his mouth full of falafel.

“Are you sure you won’t stay? There is plenty of food,” asked Molly.

“On further consideration I will join you,” Mycroft said as he smiled. They both walked over to join the others.

Sherlock shot a look to John, who raised his eyebrows, who turned to see Greg stifle a smile.

While eating their lunch Molly and Mycroft chatted in French. Molly’s French was not just fluent it was perfect, with not a hint of English accent. Mycroft was impressed. Very impressed. Molly very sweetly and ever so gently teased him about his clumsy formal verb tenses and pronunciation.

Neither of them noticed that everyone else had finished lunch and the boys were getting ready to play cricket.

“Mycroft! Play with us,” Sherlock called from where he stood with John and Greg. They were on a grassy patch slightly away from the island of blankets.

Mycroft looked over with an expression that indicated he had heard a voice from his childhood. It was obvious that he had heard that plea many, many times – but not for many, many years.

“Sherlock, I’m hardly dressed for cricket,” called Mycroft.

“You have on your summer weight linen suit. For you that’s the equivalent of shorts and flip-flops,” retorted Sherlock with a smile.

Mycroft sighed and looked at Molly who was smiling at him, “Go on. They need one more.”

Mycroft held Molly’s gaze as he took off his tie. Everyone cheered and clapped, as he slowly took off his shoes and socks and rolled up his trouser legs. Smiling he took off his coat and handed it to Molly. She folded it and put it next to the rest of his clothes.

Rolling up his sleeves, he walked over to the cricket players.

“Someone call Argentina. Now’s their chance," smirked Sherlock.

Mycroft flashed a wry smile.

The glorious summer afternoon continued. The boys played cricket while the ladies chatted, read magazines and napped in the sun. Mycroft spent much of the cricket match sneaking looks at Molly – which he was hoping were being hidden by his sunglasses. She had on a light blue cotton summer dress with no sleeves and a scoop neck. It finished just slightly below her knees. He was sure she had shoes somewhere but like everyone else she was barefoot.

Molly was sitting with Mary and Kathy while Mrs. Hudson was sleeping in the lawn chair in the shade.

“Somebody likes you!” Mary was teasing Molly.

“Stop it! He does not. He’s Sherlock’s brother. I’m just the person who keeps his little brother in body parts,” explained Molly. “That’s all.”

Kathy gave Mary a knowing look. “Molly did you get a bruise when the cricket ball hit your leg earlier?” Kathy asked.

Molly pulled up the hem of her dress exposing most of her leg, while twisting to the side to look at her left mid-thigh.

A shout came from the cricket match, “Mycroft! How on Earth could you miss that?” scolded John “All you had to do what put your hands up!”

Molly quickly pulled her skirt down over her legs, hugging them. She buried her blushing face in her knees. Mary and Kathy both burst out laughing, “See! We told you so!”

The cricket match continued. The stolen glances by Molly and Mycroft continued as casually as possible. Each thinking the same thing, “Is this really happening?”

“Boys! Tea break!” called Mary. The boys stopped playing and walked back to the blankets happily chatting with each other, discussing the antics of the match.

Molly walked up to Mycroft with a bottle of water. “Here, it’s very hot you need to drink this.”

Mycroft took the bottle and thanked her.

“Oh my goodness!” Molly exclaimed and raced over to her bag. She was back in a flash and was squeezing a tube into her hand.

“You forgot to put on sun cream. We all did it before you arrived and now you are getting a sun burn.” Without thinking Molly reached up and started to rub cream into the side of Mycroft’s neck.

Mycroft went rigid.

“Oh! Oh!” Molly suddenly realised what she was doing. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to touch you. I was only …um…um… oh …sorry, sorry, sorry, now you will probably send me to the Tower.” Molly looked genuinely scared.

After the initial shock of his personal space not only being invaded but his being touched, Mycroft took a deep breath and willed himself to relax. Mycroft looked down at her and smiled, “I can assure you a trip to the Tower is not warranted for the only person save Mummy to ever apply sunscreen to me.”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Mycroft turned his head to expose as much neck as possible and pulled back the collar of his shirt so Molly could apply sun cream there as well. Her hands and the lotion were cool against his slightly burned skin. When Molly finished Mycroft thanked her and was surprised to feel a twinge of sadness that it was over.

Greg, John and Sherlock were standing in a line a slight distance away, with their arms crossed drinking from their water bottles staring at Molly and Mycroft.

“Will you look at that,” sighed Greg “Who would have thought?”

“I did not see that coming,” said John.

Sherlock didn’t say anything.

“Pimms or more cricket,” asked Greg? “Pimms!” came the resounding response from everyone.

A pitcher of Pimms was made and passed around. Everyone lay on the blankets enjoying the now late afternoon sunshine. John and Mary were smooching, Greg and Kathy were chatting away – she was smiling and laughing as he recounted last week’s escapades from work. Sherlock and Mycroft were both lying on their backs next to each other. Molly was lying near them on her front, her knees bent and ankles crossed reading a magazine.

Mycroft opened his eyes as he heard Molly moving. She was putting things in her bag, getting ready to go. Mycroft sat up on his elbows. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes. I have just realised the time,” she said smiling.

“Let me drive you home,” offered Mycroft moving to get up.

“Oh no. No, I’m not going home. I’m going to a concert,” Molly explained.

“Oh,” said Mycroft softly, jumping to entirely the wrong conclusion.

“No! Oh! Sorry no!” exclaimed Molly once she realised what he thought, “Actually I’m not going to a concert, technically I’m playing in a concert.”

Mycroft looked surprised -- another vital bit of info missed. He made a mental note to review and update various files when he was back in the office.

Molly pulled out an oboe case from her bag holding it up to prove to Mycroft that she was indeed going to play in concert, “See? Oboe. I play with a group and tonight we have a concert.” She handed Mycroft a flyer. He looked at the song listing. Molly was obviously a very good musician.

“Can I …” started Mycroft but Molly cut him off.

“Oh no! Sorry, not tonight. I would be too nervous if I knew you were there,” she blushed and giggled.

They smiled at each other. “It has been my pleasure to spend the day with you Molly Hooper,” said Mycroft. He stood up so he could offer a hand to help her up.

“Me too,” said Molly standing in front of him awkwardly, she had quickly let go of the hand he had helped her up with and was rummaging deep inside her bag.

“Here,” Molly handed the book he had admired earlier to Mycroft, “You can read it. I only have a few chapters left anyway. When you are finished you can ring me or just drop it by the morgue. You know where to find me.” Molly said cheerily as she wrote her number on the front page.

“Thank you. Yes, I will ring you.” Mycroft was staring down at the book in his hands

Molly turned away and quickly walked down the path, only turning back for one brief glance. Mycroft was watching her go. His hand gave a small unconscious wave.

When she was out of sight Mycroft sat down again next to Sherlock.

“Are you going to call her?” asked Sherlock still lying on his back, eyes closed.

Mycroft said nothing.

“I think you should,” said Sherlock.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow as he over looked at Sherlock.

“Yes, do your best Mycroft. Wine her, dine her, cause her to fall desperately in love with you, then when you dump her and shatter her heart into a thousand pieces I will finally have the excuse I need to kill you once and for all,” said Sherlock flatly.

Sherlock tensed his abs, waiting for the sucker punch.

It didn’t come.

“Did you know she speaks perfect French?” asked Mycroft quietly.

“Yes. She also has passable Japanese but strangely her German is appalling,” replied Sherlock his eyes still closed.

“Did you know she played the oboe,” asked Mycroft.

“Yes. She is always inviting me to her _concerts_ ,” came Sherlock’s reply.

“Do you go?” asked Mycroft lost in thought.

“Never. You know how I feel about double-reed instruments,” scoffed Sherlock.

Mycroft was silent. He kept looking at the book as he turned it over and over in his hands absentmindedly.

“Well, well, well, brother dear,” said Sherlock raising himself up on his elbows. “I thought you told me you weren’t lonely.”

“I didn’t know I was Sherlock,” sighed Mycroft, “until she walked away 12 minutes ago.”


End file.
